Jack Windrush Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 6-1

"They won"t stand a chance." Coleman sat in the centre of the boat with a man on either side and his musket upright between his knees. He looked toward the still-smoking remnants of the stockades that had barred the British landing on this bank of the Rangoon River. Now the route to the Golden Pagoda lay open. "They ran away from us last time, and they"ll run again."

Jack let him talk. In the two days that had elapsed since the bombardment of the stockades, reinforcements had joined the British fleet. Vessels of the Honourable East India Company had brought up hundreds of soldiers, both Queen"s and Company"s, and now instead of three boats from Rattler and a handful of redcoats and bluejackets, dozens of boats were rowing across the river, each with its quota of soldiers. All peered eagerly into the pre-dawn dark and hoped for a brief, victorious fight followed by plunder.

RattlerJack surveyed the scene; he saw the proud Midshipmen or bearded petty officers in the stern of each boat, directing the naval rowers while the redcoats sat in disciplined ranks waiting for their opportunity. There were the Royal Irish of the 18th Foot, the 51st Regiment and four hundred of the 80th Foot, as well as immaculate sepoys of the Bengal and Madras Native Infantry from the Company"s army plus some capable sappers and miners. Backing the infantry were pieces of artillery, precariously balanced in the boats. Together with the Navy and company ships, it was the most extensive collection of British military might Jack had seen gathered in one place.

And my men of the 113th are part of it.

And my men of the 113thare part of it.Jack grinned, unable to hide his sudden pleasure at living the life he had always wanted. Here I am, fighting for the Queen in this strange humid land, facing the Queen"s enemies and seeing exotic and captivating places.

Here I am, fighting for the Queen in this strange humid land, facing the Queen"s enemies and seeing exotic and captivating places."There"s that Golden Pagoda." O"Neill blinked away the sweat from his eyes. "That"s what we"re taking today, boys." He licked his lips. "Gold and silver and jewels," he said. "I heard that place is stuffed with rubies and emeralds for the taking."

"How did you hear that?" Coleman jeered. "Your thick Irish ears can"t understand English, let alone Burmese."

"One of the sweepers told me,." O"Neill ignored the insult. "He said he"d seen hundreds of rubies and piles of gold."

"I heard there were dragons and monsters there." Graham"s Cumbrian accent was every bit as incomprehensible as O"Neill"s Donegal.

"And guns." Wells grunted as a single cannon shot sounded across the ruins of the stockades. "This may not be as easy as the last time." He nudged Thorpe with the side of his boot. "None of your grousing, Thorpey-boy; I"m watching you, and I"m up to all your dodges."

"They"re firing at us," O"Neill said as a spurt of smoke emitted from the Golden Pagoda followed a second later by a deep bang. "They want you, Thorpey!"

"Keep together, boys," Jack ordered. "Remember that we"re with the 51st Foot, and we"re going after the White House Picket." He indicated their target, a stockade that stood directly between the landing party and the Golden Pagoda. "After that," he pointed ahead, "we are advancing on the pagoda itself."

"Will the Burmese fight?" Coleman sounded anxious.

"I b****y hope so." O"Neill"s words brought general laughter. "The quicker they fight, the quicker we can kill them and get the loot!"

"113th!" The word cut crisp across the mudflats. "Form up beside us."

Sun-bronzed and fit, the 51st glowered at the newcomers and only reluctantly made room for them. "b****y Griffins and Johnny Raws," a corporal complained. "I hope you know how to fight."

"I"m Major Reid," a stocky, tanned officer introduced himself, "of the Bengal Artillery." He jerked a thumb toward the stockade that blocked their path. "We are the leading unit and your men have to escort us so we can blast the Burmese out of the way."

"You can rely on us." Jack hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Not only Thorpe had started at the report of the g*n from the pagoda – Coleman and a couple of others had looked decidedly nervous as well.

"You take the right flank," Reid ordered and returned his attention to his artillery.

The right flank was that furthest from the landing-place, and the least covered by the guns of the Navy. There was an area of open ground, a maidan between the advancing British and the dark scrub jungle that spread on either side of Rangoon.

maidan"Open order, men, keep in front of the guns but not too far, in case the Burmese get between us." Jack tried to sound confident.

We are the foremost troops of the British Army – the 113th is in the van.

We are the foremost troops of the British Army – the 113this in the van.They moved forward slowly with the guns in the middle of the formation, and the sound of gunfire behind. Jack watched the British ships exchange shot and shell with the pagoda"s defenders. Thorpe ducked as a shell whizzed low overhead, then looked around with a guilty grin on his face.

"That was one of ours." Wells" voice was flat. "As soon as it sees your uniform, the cannonball will stop and go elsewhere."

Thorpe"s grin altered to a relieved smile. "Is that right, sergeant?"

"Of course, it is," Wells said, "so keep your head up and don"t bob."

"Oh Jesus, save us." Coleman shook his head.

The cannonball rammed into the ground a few paces in front of them, bounced and splashed into the mud.

"Jesus! They"re firing at us!" Coleman"s voice rose into a near screech.

"Stand!" Jack put a hand on Thorpe"s shoulder to prevent him from running. "We"re British soldiers; they are only a raggy-arsed bunch of jungle-wallahs."

"That was one of theirs" Wells hadn"t flinched.

More balls whizzed past or slogged into the mud. Coleman pointed a shaky finger. "Look over there!"

At first, Jack could see nothing and then as his eyes accustomed themselves to the shape and shadow of the jungle; he saw human forms flitting about between the trees. Drums sounded from somewhere, but whether from the forest or the stockade he could not tell. A gong sounded brassily between the scream and crash of artillery.

"The Burmese lads are hard to see," Wells said.

Jack nodded. "Their clothes and colour blend with nature, unlike us." He was suddenly aware that the scarlet of the British Army looked bold and martial on parade or when armies were manoeuvring in civilised warfare, but out East, in the jungle, the red-coated British soldiers made excellent targets.

"Open up," Jack realised that his men had bunched together, "and advance on these Burmese skirmishers."

The gongs continued; he couldn"t tell when they had started, he only knew that they were there, everywhere, in his head, surrounding him, penetrating his thoughts. They were the sound of Burma and a reminder that he was an intruder in this beautiful, frighteningly alien land. Gongs and artillery, the muted swearing from his men, the sharp c***k of musketry – this was his unique introduction to warfare.

Jack looked forward, where the Burmese gunners were firing from the White House Picket. It was a formidable building, more extensive and stronger than any they had destroyed so far in this war, and the Burmese defenders seemed determined and active. Their cannon fired again, and Jack saw some of the sepoys of the Madras Native Infantry fall; their line immediately closed up. A high-pitched scream sounded across the battlefield, just as the gongs raised their sonorous beat.

"Advance on the jungle skirmishers," a red-faced colonel ordered. "You, fellow" he pointed a plump finger at Jack, "take your men and clear that blasted jungle. We"re fighting on three fronts here, damn it."

Jack saw the cannon on the White House Picket fire again, and the 51st Foot formed up for the assault. There would be glory and honour for the regiment that captured that stockade, but none for the 113th if they merely guarded the flank against jungle skirmishers.

We are no longer the front markers – now we"re a sideshow.

We are no longer the front markers – now we"re a sideshow."They"re getting bolder, sir," Wells said.

A score of Burmese emerged from the jungle, moving fast as they weaved from cover to cover. One dropped to his knees and fired his long musket.

"They"re going to harass our flank as we attack the White House Picket." Wells pointed out the obvious.

"Volley fire!" Jack ordered. "One round – fire!" He stepped close to Thorpe. "Take your time men and mark your target."

Twelve muskets cracked in a ragged volley. None of the Burmese fell.

"Fix bayonets!" Jack said. More Burmese appeared from within the wall of the jungle, sturdy, active men with black padded jackets and long muskets or dhas. Some fired back with the white spurts of smoke swift to appear, slow to dissipate against dark foliage. Others slipped around the sides, intending to outflank the 113th. Muzzle flares momentarily gleamed on the n***d blades of a dozen dhas.

"Spread out!" Jack ordered. He fired his revolver at the closest of the Burmese and saw the man stagger but recover. "Hold the line! Don"t let them entice you into the forest."

"No b****y chance of that," O"Neill said. "Once we go in there, they"ll chop us to pieces."

"Load!" Jack realised his men were standing with empty muskets. I have to tell them even the simplest thing. He saw Thorpe glance behind him, searching for safety. "Look to your front, Thorpe! You took the Queen"s shilling, now earn it!"

I have to tell them even the simplest thing."But sir!" Thorpe"s eyes were unfocused, and his breath came in short bursts. "Sir…"

"Come on Thorpey," Wells encouraged, "a shilling a day – good pay for the privilege of fighting the Queen"s enemies!"

"Fight them, man!" Jack pointed to where the Burmese advanced from the jungle, crouched to fire and moved again. "There is the enemy, Thorpe! Kill them, and we"ll be safe!"

The British artillery fired again as Reid slewed his four guns around to point at the White House Picket. Roundshot arced overhead and ripped down, too fast for the eye to see.

"That b****y fort is right in our path." O"Neill glanced at the stockade. "Until we destroy it, we"re stuck here for the Burmese to hit us on two fronts at once."

"Ignore the stockade." Jack loosed two shots at the flanking enemy and swore as the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. He fumbled for cartridges to reload. "Our job is to contain the Burmese in the jungle."

A panting corporal of the 51st ran up, musket at the trail. "Are you in charge of the 113th, sir?"

"I am," Jack admitted.

"Colonel St Maur sends his compliments, sir, and could you push the enemy back from the jungle edge sir? He"s going to lead the 51stthrough the jungle to take that fort, and he wants his flank secure."

Damn! We"ll lose all our advantages in the jungle.

Damn! We"ll lose all our advantages in the jungle."Pray inform Colonel St Maur that the 113th will secure his flank," Jack said. He raised his voice. "Come on, lads; we"re needed! The whole advance depends on us!"

Jack estimated that there were between thirty and fifty Burmese on the fringe of the jungle, some firing, others merely making threatening gestures with their dhas. He paused for a moment to complete loading his revolver, dropped a cartridge in nervousness or excitement – he was not sure which – and let it lie as a paper memory on the grass. "Right lads!" He tried not to duck as a Burmese bullet hissed past his head. "Fire a volley and this time hit some of the bastards, and then take them at the charge."